An Angel's Arising and Other Tales
by CSIVixen
Summary: A collection of short ficletsdrabbles. Mainly EC angsty stuff, some fluff to come.
1. An Angel's Arising

**Title: **_An Angel's Arising_

**Summary: **_Short little ficlet about how Erik became Christine's Angel, her teacher; and how all that changed as she grew._

**Rating: **_K+_

He hated it when they said he had no heart. If indeed that was true, it was through lack of use that it had disappeared. Certainly, he had had a heart the night he heard little Christine Daaé crying. Purely by accident, he had heard her one day, down in the chapel, and for the first time in his life, his instinct to help people overrode his passion to hurt and frighten as he had been hurt and frightened. How surprised he had been to hear the weeping little girl begin to sing! In a small, sad voice, to be sure, but it was beautiful, and even Erik's carefully guarded heart had begun to wear down.

This beautiful little girl needed his help now, and he would be sure to give it.

She spoke to her father- Gustave Daaé, said the engraving under the candle she always lit- and prayed for her Angel of Music to come and take care of her.

So Erik became both an Angel, and a Ghost. While he terrorised the ballet rats and the managers, corresponded with Madame Giry through his slightly sinister notes, he was all the while concentrating on the next lesson with Christine. He would watch her all day, ensure that she came to no harm, and if the other ballet rats tormented her, well, all the worse for them whe they found spiders in their beds and rats underneath.

As Christine started to improve, Erik felt an almost fatherly pride for the darling little girl. At twelve, she was the prettiest little thing in the Opera house, and she had more talent in her little finger than that croaking lump, La Carlotta, had in her whole body.

As she grew into an even more beautiful young woman, Erik knew he was doomed. His _Don Juan_, his life's work, had taken on a darker tone than he had ever imagined it would, and he knew exactly who would be starring in his masterpiece. He wrote it for her, now, and their lessons were the light of his life; he would do anything to make her happy, and he knew that this, in turn, made him feel for the first time like there was a purpose to his miserable existance. Erik knew he was doomed, and powerless to stop it, even as he berated himself for hiding and watching her dance at rehearsal, sitting in his box during performances and planning numerous ways to rid Paris of La Carlotta, each more painful than the last.

She called him Angel; he was so much less, and at the same time, so much more.

FIN.

**Author's Note: **_Amazing what having no Internet for two days will do.This wouldn't leave me alone; I just had to get it out. Awww, poor Erik :( This is actually one of three short little things I've written today, which are all being posted in a 'collection' of sorts. All three of them are pretty angstsy though. Anyway, enjoy, and tell me what you think!_

_PS: Updates on 'Wandering Child' and 'This is the Choice' will be up ASAP, I'm just making final edits on those. Also, if anyone is interested in being a beta/proofreader/general muse, I'd be much obliged. Not a lot of people I know like Phantom x.x_


	2. Broken Like an Angel

**Title: **_Broken Like an Angel_

**Summary: **_Christine reflects on the events of the past months. A final gift from her angel finalises what her heart always knew: that she cannot leave. EC, ALW_

**Rating: **_K+_

Amazing, the things you will notice when you've been in a state of total frenzy for longer than you care to remember. For instance, right now, as I am about to go onstage for _Don Juan_, all I can remember is the look in his eyes that night at the Masquerade. He was hurting, and it was because of me. I could hardly bear it, when he called me a star. His steps toward me seemed to take an eternity, and I could not move, could not breathe, could not think as his eyes held me. Those dark, endless pools of golden green, which held more pain and hatred than I had ever seen in anyone.

At that moment, I was sorry for having worn the ring. Raoul was so insistant that I wear it; in reality, I had no more wish to wear it than I did to even attend the Masquerade. The murder of Joseph Buquet had done little to ease the overall opinion of the Opera Ghost, as I now knew my Angel of Music. I was frightened that night, frightened as I had not been since the day my father told me that I would be staying at the Opera from now on, and that he would always be watching over me. Then, I cried. Now, as a young woman and rising star, I could not cry. I was breaking in two inside, my heart tearing itself apart because of my angel's act, and because of that, I turned to Raoul. And then three long, slow months of nothing but Raoul, Raoul, Raoul.

Raoul was my safety at a time when I was no more sure of who I was than who my Angel was. Everything I had known was turned upsidedown. I no longer had my angel, I no longer had the safety of being in the back of the chorus as I worked through my steps, trying to keep up with Meg and the others who were better dancers than I. My father was now nothing more than a fleeting memory and my mother, a sound, an old photograph. During the years since Father died, my Angel had been my rock, my safety, and now that he had seemingly betrayed me, Raoul was the only thing of my childhood that I could still cling to.

And my Angel, it seems, is determined that my image of him be tarnished even more: His _Don Juan_ is the strangest things I have ever seen or heard. It is beautiful, in its own way, but the content would never have been allowed on stage under normal circumstances. It is in the vein of _Il Muto_, though in a different setting, and about as subtle as La Carlotta's mood changes. It has been horrible rehearsing with Piangi, especially Aminta's largest appearance, the Point of No Return. Perhaps worse is that I know that while my Angel wrote this opera, he also designed the sets, the costumes, the dancing...and the choreography in Point of No Return is particularly reminiscent of that one time I was in his world, his world of music. I would almost believe he wishes to torture me, making me rehearse and perform this with Piangi with my memories of him to compare it to.

''Christine!'' It is Meg calling me. She is as excited at the prospect of catching the Opera Ghost as are Raoul and the Managers. Am I the only one who wishes to take it all back, go back to the beginning and start this anew? ''Christine, oh, you are about to go on! Maman said to give you this. She does not look happy, Christine, I think she is slightly offended by this opera...'' Meg continues to prattle as my gaze is held by the object she had pressed into my hand: a blood-red rose, tied with a black ribbon.

_That_ was why Madame Giry was unhappy. I can feel myself tremble, but I know what I must do. My Angel, my Phantom, whatever he is, has offered me my choice. This night can end in love, or in hatred.

I am shaking now, both from the stage fright I have become accustomed to, and the enormity of what I am about to do. I carefully pull the ribbon from the rose and tie it to the edge of the corset that is a part of my costume. I slip the rose into my hair and square my shoulders. I do not know how tonight will end; but I do know that I have hope, knowing my Angel has not forgotten me, and I know that he will let nothing come between us, should he forgive me. I am truly sorry for Raoul, though I may not have a chance to tell him. This journey began, truly, the night I was thrust onstage in La Carlotta's place. That one event started everything: Raoul recognised me when he did not earlier, I met my Angel for the first time. And so on.

Perhaps the pain in my Angel's eyes, and the pain in my heart, will be taken away.


	3. Watch It Burn

**Title: **_Watch It Burn_

**Summary: **_For one second, Erik sees something he has longed for..._

**Rating: **_T_

_**The bridge is crossed...**_

In one fleeting second, Erik swore he saw desire in Christine's eyes. True, the past few minutes had been base desire running rampant across the stage, accompanying them, guiding them, dancing the steps along with them. But that was almost hollow, compared to this. For one single second, he would have stood before God and all the real Angels and told them that for that one second, Christine Daaé desired him, and that he would have given her all of him. But then it was gone.

_**So stand and watch it burn...**_

And it will burn.


End file.
